


The Deep and Dark Hole

by Cantique



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Getting through them one by one, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mental health, planning on the whole roster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantique/pseuds/Cantique
Summary: All your overwatch faves try and help you when you're dealing with depression/anxiety/ptsd/mental health issues after trauma--You were trying to evacuate a residential building that had been caught in the middle of the crossfire when you found three children huddled under a bed. You left with all three of them. You told them that they’d be fine. There was an explosion. You were knocked down. You could only shield one from the blast. Whatever hole you fell into after that mission? You’ve been unable to pull yourself out of. Part of you knows you’re going to need someone to drag you out, but the depression isn’t going to let you admit to that.--Everyone/reader, trying to keep it gender neutral when I can but I'll let you guys know when it deviates. Getting through the whole roster chapter by chapter, happy to take requests.





	1. Kintsugi - Hanzo/Gender Neutral Reader

“Sit,” Hanzo orders before turning to the faucet, running the water in your room’s bathtub. You want to argue. You want to go back to bed and just hide from him. You’re so embarrassed right now, and you’ve been standing there like a deer in the headlights, horrified that he knows how you’ve been living for the last week.

Instead, you oblige, sitting on the edge of the bath, not willing to argue, scared you might make him more angry than he already seems to be with you. That’s the last thing you want.

You watch him fill the bath, both of you silent. Hanzo is deeply attentive to it, checking the temperature periodically and adjusting the water as needed. There’s almost a level of professionalism to it, but you wonder if Hanzo has taken anything lightly in his entire life. Eventually, once satisfied with the level of water, he shuts off the water, giving it a final swirl to ensure it’s at the correct temperature.

“Undress and get in,” he orders, moving to your bathroom cabinet and welcoming himself to rummage through it. You don’t move. Usually Hanzo asking you to get undressed is a cause for celebration in your books… but all of a sudden your sweatpants and hoodie feel warm and safe, even if you have been wearing them a week straight and they honestly kind of smell a little. He stops his rummaging, turning to lock eyes with you once he realises you’re stalling. “Either you will do so or I will do it for you,” he warns. There’s nothing sexual about this, and you know that Hanzo doesn’t make threats. He makes promises. He turns back to the cabinet and you relent, gingerly pulling your hoodie over your head, discarding it on the floor.

You continue undressing as he gives up on the cabinet, making his way to your shower. “Ah,” he exhales, opening the shower door and reaching inside. “Of course.” He retrieves the shampoo from inside and turns to face you, just in time to see you step into the bath.

The water almost feels hot at first, but as your skin adjusts you realise it’s as warm as it can be before becoming unhealthy. You slowly sit, lowering yourself into the water, suddenly remembering how good the feeling of water against skin is, how comforting the warmth is. As you settle in, Hanzo places the shampoo bottle and a cup on the corner of the bath and steps back, his hands moving to unfasten his kimono. It suddenly dawns on you that Hanzo is going to get in the bath with you. You don’t watch. Even though you’ve seen him naked more than any other man you’ve ever known, you don’t feel like you should look. You don’t feel like you deserve him in that way anymore. Not after how you’ve acted.

The next thing you know, he’s stepped in to the bath behind you, and slowly settles himself down, his legs coming to rest either side of you, his hands moving up to untie your hair. You don’t move. You wouldn’t dare. Not because you’re afraid of him, but because you’re so embarrassed. You’re an adult, and here he is, taking care of you like a child. You can’t even look after yourself. How are you good enough for Overwatch? How are you good enough for Hanzo?

He places your hair tie aside and fills the cup with bathwater, bringing it to your head and pouring it over your head, using extra care to keep it from running down your face. He does this three or so times to make sure your hair is saturated before he reaches for the shampoo bottle, squeezing it into his hand before placing the bottle back down. With a gentle touch, he begins to rub the shampoo into your hair, his fingers moving in circular motions. Is he giving you a massage? Maybe. He tends to do things like this when he’s unable to sleep, when you’re drifting off against his chest.

“I am sorry I took so long to come to you,” he finally says, his fingers working the shampoo into a lather. “I had assumed you wanted to be alone and...” he pauses, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to find the right words or if it’s just because he’s just reaching for the cup again. Probably both. “...I am… sometimes I am not wise when it comes to these things.” He fills the cup with bathwater again, rinsing your hair out, repeating until it’s free of the shampoo remnants. You can feel your scalp breathe again. “I had thought that the best way to be there for you was to give you space.”

You feel it again – the tightening feeling in your chest, the one that’s been coming and going in waves whenever you think about everyone you’ve let down. “It’s fine,” you finally say, your voice cracking. These are probably the first words you’ve spoken in days, the first time your voice has been used for anything but crying. “You’re fine.”

“The hero speaks,” he replies, the tiniest shred of cheer in his voice. Every part of you knows that he’s trying to cheer you up, that he’s glad to hear you speak, to know you’re still in there. But the wave comes back, rolling through your chest, straight through your lungs.

“Don’t call me that,” you mumble. “Please.”

He lets out an exhale and you feel him shift a little under the water. There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment, but eventually his arms come to either side of you, resting on his knees, his chest leaning against your back. After waiting to assure you’re comfortable with this, he brings his head forward, resting his chin on your shoulder, your faces side by side. “I love you a great deal,” he says in a low voice, “this will not change. And I will wait as long as I must for you to heal.”

If the water is warm, than this is like a blanket to you. You soften against him, knowing he isn’t mad at you. Knowing he still loves you. You can be a little weak right now, maybe. Just for him. “I messed up,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat as you think about it, “I messed up so bad. And now they’re dead. It’s my fault.”

“You gave them more of a chance than they would have had without you,” he assures you, “It’s not your fault.”

Wrong. He’s wrong about this. He wasn’t there. He hasn’t played it through his head the same amount of times you have. He hasn’t run the variables. If you’d just had them hang back and cleared the area, if you’d taken them to higher ground and asked Fareeha for help, if you’d just waited half a second – they’d all still be alive. “They were my responsibility,” you exhale. “I failed them.” You pause. Shit. Now you’re crying. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“Cut out for what?” He asks you.

“Overwatch.” You try to wipe your eyes, but your hands are wet and just makes your face wetter than if you’d just left it. “How can I – how can _anyone_ come back from this?” You ask as you shake your head. “Takes strength I don’t have.”

Hanzo’s arms move from his knees to wrap around you, embracing your arms and chest as he holds your back to his. “We all have a trial like this eventually,” he begins, waiting for you to relax a little in his arms. “Great things we may achieve, but we still feel sorrow and mourn.”

“Look at me,” you say, trying your best to mask a sob you’ve been trying to hold back. “I’m a mess. You had to come in here and force me to take a bath. I’m a joke. I don’t deserve to be here.”

“I can remember,” he interrupts, “a time in my youth where my father’s men did not know how to bring me back to them. I would not leave my room. I refused to touch my bow. They tried everything; bribes, gifts, women… but I was lost, just like you.” He pauses. “I had killed my own brother. I had upheld my honour, my duty, but I did not feel worthy of it.” Hanzo turns his head ever so much, kissing your cheek. “Today, it is me trying to bring someone back. It is hard now, and you do not feel like you will ever find your way,” he agrees, “but I will be by your side. Always. And I will wait as long as I must.”

You turn your head to face him, your eyes locking, your faces only inches away. This is one of the reasons you love him so much. When he gives you a piece of his heart like this, you know it’s only for you, that so few will ever know him like you do, or experience the gentle kindness he’s capable of. You’re hardly royalty, but the way he looks at you and his dedication to protecting you makes you feel like it, even when he’s protecting you from yourself. Like he is right now.

You kiss him, his arms tensing around you, holding you tighter. Usually you get a thrill from this, a signal to bite at his lip or gently tease his back with your nails to get him going – but this is different. It’s not sexual. He’s protecting you, the way a dragon protects his treasure.

“I love you,” you whisper, finally surrendering yourself to the warmth of the water and the safety of his embrace, your shoulders dropping, relaxing with a deep breath.

“ _Kintsugi_ ,” he replies. “When a piece of you is broken, you put it back together, and it becomes so much more.”


	2. Moonshine Confessional - McCree/Gender Neutral Reader

You eye the flask that McCree has handed you. You know it’ll have alcohol in it – it always does, but you’re more curious as to _why_ he thinks this is a good idea. Regardless, though, he’s taken the time to visit you. Other than Angela, he’s the only one who’s dared to come near your door. You can’t blame him. Given the state of both your room and yourself, you probably wouldn’t have let anyone else in.

You take a swig, choking on the sharpness of the alcohol the second you finish and the air hits your mouth. Is it paint thinner? Is he trying to poison you? You hand the flask back and he chuckles to himself as you recompose yourself. “Moonshine,” he explains. “Thought now was as good a time as any to break it out.”

“Look,” you wheeze, shaking your head a final time to try and get the taste out of your mouth as the moonshine burns its way down your oesophagus. “Thanks for the drink, but Angela said I shouldn’t be drinking until--”

“Until ya’ what?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “Start that therapy thing she’s been talkin’ ‘bout?” He shakes his head, pausing to take a swig himself. “I mean, ain’t that just just in a room with a stranger and tellin’ ‘em ‘bout stuff?” He smirks at you, extending the flask towards you. “Only difference here is that I happen t’ know you pretty well. Better than well.” You hesitantly take the flask as he shrugs to himself. “None o’ that ever worked for me. Not as well as this.”

You cough with the second swig as well, although it’s not as much of a shock this time around, and raise an eyebrow as soon as your able. “ _You_ were in therapy?”

“Went twice,” McCree explains, nodding to the flask, encouraging you to have more. “Angie’s a pretty big fan of it, wanted me to go. Only agreed ‘cause, well, you know, a younger me woulda’ bent over backwards to get in her good books.” He cuts himself off, pointing to you before he can say anything, “This is _before_ I met you. Before.” He waits for you to roll your eyes and nod dismissively. He’d never hidden it from you, in fact, he was always up front with you about it. Angela and McCree had been close for years. It never shocked you that he’d thought of her as more than a friend once upon a time. “Anyway, figured the first time was like an introduction, ya’ know. Nice lady would get t’ know me, figure out what I needed. But then the second time rolled ‘round and it was the same thing. Just talkin’, no prescriptions or medicine or nothin’.” He shrugs. “I figured I got a lot more off my chest over a few beers with Hanzo than in an office with a stranger. Never went back.” There’s a silence as he watches you help yourself to another sip. “...Might work fer’ you, though.”

Confused, you hand him the moonshine, your chest already beginning to warm up as it begins to work. “What do you mean?” She asks.

McCree taps his fingers on the flask in thought, watching you carefully. “You always been a more thoughtful person than me.”

“McCree, you’re thoughtful. Come on.”

He shakes his head. “Not like you. You… well, you ain’t sensitive. Don’t think you’d abide much about me if you were. Nah, you just… spend more time runnin’ things through your head. It’s good.” He smiles to himself. “You stop me from gettin’ myself into a lotta’ trouble that way.” There’s another pause. “You get a lot sadder, too. Beat ya’self up over things that ain’t your fault. And, I mean,” he gestures around your room. It’s trashed. You haven’t cleaned it since you got back from the mission. There’s dirty laundry everywhere, half eaten food on dirty plates on every surface. God knows how long it’s been since you’ve opened the curtains. “I mean, not that I mind, you’ve seen my room – it’s messier than this. But this ain’t you.”

You can’t help but agree. You usually keep things neater than this. Not hospital-levels of neat and organised like Angela, or even just neat and tidy like Mei, but you never let things get like this. You even bought McCree a hamper for his own laundry because you were sick of stepping over his dirty clothes whenever you stayed in his room. But you’ve barely been able to get out of bed.

The crying starts. You hate this so much. You turn your head away from him in the hope that you can stop before he notices, but it’s a waste of effort. For his coarseness on the surface, McCree is scarily in tune with your mood at times. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed. “Shit,” you say with a false laugh in your voice, trying to cover it up. “Sorry. I. Um. Maybe you should go.”

His hand comes to rest on your knee. “Now, now,” he coos. “I ain’t havin’ none of that. I’m stayin’ right here. Takes more than some tears to scare me off.” His hand gives a gentle squeeze. “Don’t you ever go feelin’ like you can’t be sad in fronta’ me.”

You silently nod, sniffling, wiping at your eyes.

“Promise me,” he insists, tone a little firmer. “C’mon. Don’t make me start kissin’ on ya’.”

You can’t help but laugh at this, even through the tears. He can always get you to laugh. He’s the only person you’ve ever met who can get through to you so easily. “Ok,” you relent. “I promise.”

“Good.” He pats your knee and offers you the flask again with his other hand. “Now, c’mon. I’m gonna’ get you drunk and it’s gonna take the edge off while you talk t’ me about it, ‘cause I meant it the first time I said I was always’ gonna be there to put you back up on that horse.” He’s talking about the first time he caught you having a panic attack, something you’d tried to hard to hide for the longest time. “And I don’t half ass anything. You should know that.”

You smile at him. He’s so good at this. Even though you look like shit and your room is garbage and you’re crying over nothing and you feel like everyone thinks you’re batshit crazy for being this way, he’s still happy to see you. This isn’t a big deal to him. He wants to be here with you. “Thanks, Jesse,” you say, taking another swig of moonshine.

“Oh, and uh, by the way,” he says, leaning in a little, arm draping itself over your shoulder, voice lowering, “After enough moonshine? I’m 'prolly gonna’ start kissin’ on ya’ anyway.”


	3. Anger - Soldier 76/Gender Neutral Reader

“So,” he finally says with an exhale as you begin to unlace your boots, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Are we going to talk about this or not?”

“Talk about what?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

76 is leaning against the door, his arms crossed, an expression on his face that you’ve learned over time means his gaze is fixed on you. Shit. You know what this is. This is a confrontation, and he’s not going to let you walk out of here until he’s satisfied with it. “What happened on your mission.”

You give an exhale – if it’s an exhale of exhaustion or frustration, you’re unsure – and kick one of your boots off. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply bluntly.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says bluntly.

You kick off the other boot. “I’ve been eating better and working harder.”

“You were hesitating during the skirmish today.”

“It’s a skirmish and my shoulder still hurts,” you explain, “I wasn’t going to make it worse for a training exercise.”

“I heard you crying in the shower.”

You freeze. “...What?”

He doesn’t relent. “Had to come back to the room yesterday,” he explains. “Forgot some paperwork. Heard you crying.” He pauses, leaving time for this to sink in. “Fareeha says you’ve been acting different, that you’re blunt and short with everyone. She’s worried about you. Angela is worried about you. Winston is worried. Everyone is.” Your eyes are wide, like there’s imminent danger in front of you as he continues. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you aren’t sleeping.”

“I sleep, it’s just been-”

“We sleep in the same bed. You’re not fooling me.” He shoots down your final attempt at making an excuse with the same swiftness of any target in the field.

You have no idea how to react other than panic, but you try your best to mask it all under a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Just stressed out. I really don’t-”

“PTSD is real,” he says over you, silencing you again. “I’ve seen it more times than I can count, and I’m seeing it in you right now. The more you deny it’s there, the worse it’ll get.”

You drop your shoulders, defeated, a long exhale drawing out of you as you do your best to not break down in front of him. You thought you’d done so well to hide it. “Jack,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I’ll get over it. I just need space.”

76 shakes his head. “No.” His tone sounds more like he’s denying a request than anything.

“Can we just drop this?” You ask.

“No.”

You glare at him. “Well I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” You’re being absolutely honest with him. You don’t.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Because I just don’t.”

He lets out a growl. “Are you really going to act like a child about this?”

Your jaw tenses. “No, _Jack,_ ” you can feel it. It’s bubbling up, you’re cracking. “Why are you pushing this?”

“You saw two children die,” he reminds her. “That’s not something that you just brush off. And I know _you_ well enough to know that you aren’t the kind of person to just ‘get over it.’”

That’s it. The crack in you breaks open. “You think you need to remind me?!” You snap, your voice rising in volume second by second. “I know what happened! I was there! It happened to _me!_ ”

“I wasn’t reminding you it happened,” he insists, his voice matching yours. “But you obviously don’t get the severity of it given the way you’re acting.”

“No, no I don’t,” you scoff, rising from the bed, shaking your head, grabbing your boots in your hands. “I just see it happen every time I close my eyes, and I can’t hear so much as one of Junkrat’s bombs going off without seeing it happen all over again. Obviously, though, I don’t understand the severity!” You make your way to the door, knowing you’re going to lose control and start to cry any second. “Move. I’m going to my room.”

“No.”

“I’m serious, Jack,” you argue, “get out of the way.”

“No,” he insists. You try to push past him but he doesn’t budge. You can feel the tears coming. Your attempt gets more physical as you go into another panic. “Not until we talk about this.” You try to shove him out of the way again and he grabs you by the arms. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Because,” you shout, the last attempt to hold back the sob you can feel in your throat, “I don’t want you to see me like this!” You’re still trying to fight past him.

“And I don’t want you blowing your brains out in a bathroom because you thought you could do this alone and realised you can’t!” He shouts this over the top of you. It’s actually more of a roar, and it’s enough to scare you into stillness. You stop fighting him. You break down.

He’s not holding you to stop you leaving anymore. He’s holding you up. You’ve all but collapsed against him and you’re just a complete mess of tears as you grip on to his jacket. You’re crying so hard you can’t even speak.

He holds you in silence for a while. Eventually, though, when your sobs have dulled a little, he speaks as softly as you suppose he can. “Lost a lot more people that way than you might think,” he explains, one hand coming to the back of your head, stroking at it gently. “Not about to let it happen to you.”

“It just doesn’t go away,” you murmur against him. “What if it doesn’t stop?”

“It will.” You feel him exhale. “In time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short. Might build on this with a second chapter.


	4. Sleepless - Soldier 76/Gender Neutral Reader

Your earpiece is rife with shouting. Everything about this mission is going wrong, and you just aren’t fast enough. You leap over some rubble, firing at the uniform-clad Talon agent. They go down. Another explosion in the distance. You can’t tell if it’s an enemy explosion or something Junkrat has set off, but you make a beeline for it anyway.

“Ejecting!” Hana calls over the comms line. You can hear her mech explode over the line, and can only hope that she’s out of danger. How the hell are there so many of them? Where are they coming from? How are they so fast?

“McCree is injured!” Mei calls over the line. You’re still running.

You shoot at another assailant. “I have eyes on him. Cover me!” It’s Angela. You can already see her launch herself from a ledge ahead of you, her wings spread. It’s relief.

There’s a loud crack that seems to rip through everything around you, sound, the air, time. You watch as her angel-shaped silhouette falls from the air, her body completely lifeless. You scream. There’s another explosion. Mei gives a cry over the comms line.

“Group up with me!” you hear 76 shout over gunshots and static. “Inside the bar! Need extra cover for McCree and Mei!” There’s more gunfire. “I’m calling an evac!”

It’s like there’s a gust of wind behind you that causes you to sprint towards them at an almost inhumane speed. You’re so focused on getting to them that the sounds around you seem to fade away, almost like there’s cotton wool in your ears. All you can see is the bar building. All you can do is run towards it. You 76 out the front, covering those inside. He turns his vision to you and waves for you to help.

Everything turns to fire, flames exploding from every widow and open gap of the bar’s structure. It’s hot. You feel it on your face. You’re blown back and hit the ground, and when your eyes open you see him in the dirt. His body lifeless. His uniformed burned through until it’s melting into the skin beneath. “Jack?” you choke, surrounded by nothing but flame. He doesn’t respond or move. You scream.

* * *

“JACK!”

You throw your eyes open, kicking your legs, your arms pinned to the mattress as 76 looks down at you. You’re breathless. You can feel the tears on your face. “It’s alright,” he assures you, “it’s just a--” you cut him off, kicking at him. You’re still confused. “It’s just a night terror. You’re ok.”

Eventually your brain manages what feels impossible at first, putting the pieces together. You’re in bed, you’re so sweaty your t-shirt is sticking to you and your boyfriend has had to pin you down because you’ve been trying to fight him. Or the air. You’re not sure what exactly has been going on, but you know where you are now. You start to calm down, catching your breathe, overcome with relief that none of it actually happened. “Shit,” is all you can manage, squeezing your eyes shut as the last of your tears rolls down your face.

Satisfied that you’re back to reality, he releases you, watching you carefully as you sit yourself up. “You alright?” He asks. You shake your head, reaching over to your bedside table, rummaging around until you find the switch for your lamp and turn it on.

“No,” you groan. You hide your face in her hands, giving a long exhale. You hate this so much. You feel like you haven’t slept properly in weeks.

“Fourth one this week,” he observes. “It’s getting worse.” He watches as you brush your hair back from your face. “Write it down.”

You glance at him and roll your eyes. “Really?” You ask. “What are you, my therapist?”

He reaches over you, taking your phone from your charger and holding it out in offer. “No. But I know that you need to write it down so you _can_ tell your therapist.” You eventually relent, realising he’s not going to budge on this, and take your phone from his hand and unlocking it. “Are you taking your meds?” He asks.

“Yes,” you sigh. There’s a tone of impatience in your voice. You know that doesn’t bother him at all, though. “I’ve taken my medication today, _Dad._ ”

He gives a growl of annoyance, but ignores that. This time, anyway. “And the other meds?” He asks.

You look up from your phone, thinking momentarily. “No, I haven’t,” you reply dismissively before you go back to writing out your night terror.

“We talked about this,” 76 says, giving an exasperated sigh and leaning his back against the headboard. “You were going to try them. Just once. See how you go. We agreed on it.”

“I’m just… I just don’t like the idea of sleeping pills,” you admit, shaking your head as you finish up your dream diary, something your therapist asked you to keep so you can work through the nightmares.

He frowns as you lock your phone and place it back on your beside table. “Why?” He asks.

For a moment, you really consider withholding it from him. You don’t want to give him another thing to worry about. But you also know that he’s excellent at getting the truth out of you anyway. “I’m scared.”

“It’s a low dose,” he assures you. “Angela said it’s nearly impossible to overdose on.”

“Not that,” you explain, shaking your head. “What if something happens while we’re asleep?”

“You’re on leave. You won’t get called out.”

Tilting your head back and looking at the ceiling, you give another exhale. You’re tired. “No, I mean what if something _happens?_ Like an attack on base or something.” You close your eyes. “I need to be ready for it. I can’t be sleepy and--”

“You’re already exhausted to the point of your performance dropping,” he cuts in. “I watched you train with Reinhardt yesterday.”

“He said I was almost myself again.”

“He’s also soft and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Ouch. Harsh. But that’s him. It’s part of why you love him, really. “You’re better in the field than that, and you won’t get back to that level until you’re sleeping properly.”

You look at the side table, pausing, taking this in. He doesn’t say these things unless they need to be said. He means it. The sleeping pills sit there in their little orange bottle, next to your regular medication. It’s helped, but it hasn’t helped you sleep. If anything, your meds have made the nightmares more vivid. Angela says this is a common side effect of SSRIs.

You could take them now, honestly. Because you’re on medical leave, you don’t really have a set time to get out of bed tomorrow. You can phone in the whole day if you want to. You want to get a good night’s sleep, without the nightmares, the terrors, the silent anxiety attacks you wake up to that you’ve been hiding from 76.

“You don’t have to,” he finally relents, surprising you out of your thoughts. “If it makes you that uncomfortable. I just...” he pauses, growling a little to himself again, “I just worry about you.”

“Jack,” you say, touched, a little smile on your face beneath the tired eyes.

“Yeah, well,” he shifts a bit. “I know how hard this is. Lived through it. Hate that you have to, too.”

You set down the sleeping pills, leaning over and gently kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jack,” you say, your voice low. It always amazes you how much trouble he has expressing these things to you despite the fact that you’ve been ‘together’ for more or less a year now. You suppose it makes it all the more sweeter when it finally does come out, though. You lay back down, switching off the light and gesturing for him to join you.

He obliges, coming up behind you and allowing you to wiggle yourself against him until your forms fit together and you’re comfortable. His arm comes to rest over your waist and you close your eyes, sighing in contentment as you feel his breath against the back of you neck.

“Love you, Jack,” you whisper as you drift off.

“You too,” he grumbles sleepily. You don’t even mind that he’s snoring within the next 30 seconds as he drops back into sleep. It’s comforting.

You don’t have another nightmare for the rest of the night.


	5. God Knows - Pharah/Gender Neutral OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of child death and child funerals here.

"Are you sure?" She asks as you adjust your uniform. The official Overwatch dress uniform is a rarity these days. In fact, the only reason you have one is because someone had a spare in your size.

Still, given the situation, it feels appropriate. "Yeah," you sigh, your fingertips grazing over the epaulettes. You were up all night removing the more esteemed ones, leaving only the stripes to indicate that you're an official member of Overwatch's field team. You'll probably be up all night sewing the higher ranked ones back on, too. "It's right. I mean, I was on duty and--"

"No," Fareeha interrupts, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "I mean this funeral." There's a brief moment where you both stand in complete silence, gazing into the mirror you stand before, taking in the sight; you in your dress uniform and her in a white shirt and black pants, a blazer draped over the crook of her arm as her hand sits on her hips. "I just know this is hard for you, and Angela said that she's happy to go in your place. They'd understand."

For a moment you consider her suggestion. You could decide to stay home. Angela would go to the funeral to represent both yourself and Overwatch and you could stay here with Fareeha. You could stay in her arms instead of having to look the mother of those children in the face and...

You shake your head. "I have to do this," you exhale, your voice shaking somewhat as you do. "I need to."

She gives your shoulder a squeeze, a soft smile on her face that does little to hide the sadness behind her eyes. "I'll be there with you," she promises, "you're not walking in there alone."

"I know." Her hand runs down your arm and meets yours. Your fingers lace together.

* * *

 

It's hard. The entire thing is hard, harder than you imagined it. From the moment you step into the service, you feel like everyone there is staring at you. You know it's most likely because of your uniform, but that voice in the back of your head insists it's because everyone there is blaming you for the two tiny coffins at the front of the room.

There are photos of them everywhere, and they open the service with a montage of more photos and even videos of the children. Tomas and Mia, their faces in the photo covered with birthday cake, their sister between them laughing so hard that she's in tears. Her name is Rosa. She is the one you managed to grab in time. She sits in the front row, dressed in black, her leg in a cast and crutches to one side.

One by one people take turns to say a few words. Relatives, teachers, community members. It surprises you that no one outwardly blames you for what happened, but you still listen for any inflections of anger. Mia's third grade teacher mentions the senselessness of their deaths, the injustice of it all, and you feel Fareeha squeeze your hand. She knows immediately how you process this. You don't know how you'd be coping right now without her.

The time comes for all to rise, for the coffins to be carried away. The burial is to be private, you're informed, for close friends and family only. Not a terrible decision given that what seems to be like the entire community is in attendance. You're told there'll be refreshments afterwards. "Do you want to?" Fareena asks. "To check on Rosa?" You shake your head. You're exhausted. You've done your best to not cry and it's taken everything out of you. You're not in the mood for tea and coffee. "It's ok," she reassures you, ger voice quiet. "You did well today."

You watch the caskets go by, both of you silent as they're loaded into hearses and driven off. This is all so unnecessary, you think. All of this. The service, the flowers, the caskets -- it all could have been prevented if you'd just done something differently.

A hand taps on your shoulder and you slowly turn around. Your stomach lurches. Mia and Tomas' mother stands before you. Her eyes are dark, tired, sunken, red with tears that you're not sure have stopped since the day she lost them. Her lips are chapped. Her cheeks are red. Not a word is exchanged. Not one.

When she finally moves, you expect a slap. You expect her to shout at you. To blame you.

Instead, she throws her arms around you, holding you tightly against her. Your arms become stiff as you struggle to wrangle this information in your brain. You glance to Fareena. She's as speechless as you are. Their mother is crying again, and you feel it, something coming from your chest, words that you can't stop. "I'm sorry," you whimper, pursing your lips together afterwards, making an effort to not join her in her sobs.

Their mother shakes her head against you. "No," she murmurs. "Thank you." There's a pause as she squeezes tighter. "You brought my Rosa back to me. You tried. God knows what would have happened to them if you hadn't..." she pulls away, dabbing a tissue at her eyes. A soft smile appears. "Thank you."

You want to respond somehow, but you can't, only able to watch her walk towards the car that will take her and Rosa to the burial. Fareena rubs your arm. "Come on," she whispers. "Let's go."

The second you sit down in the passenger's seat of the car, you absolutely lose all control over yourself, breaking down, hunching over and launching into sobs that cause your entire body to shake. As you cover your face with your hands, Fareena leans over and gently rubs at your back. You stay that way for another fifteen minutes. "I'm sorry," you finally croak, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of the uniform jacket. You'll have to dry-clean it now. "I just... today has been."

"It's fine," she assures you, the gentle smile that has been with you every step of the way accompanying her words, a smile that only a privileged few ever get to see beneath her professional exterior. "You did a good thing today," she says. "Something very difficult." She leans over further, kissing you on the brow.

"I am so proud of you," she says, pulling away and turning the keys in the ignition. "You make me feel so every day."

 


	6. Tracing Patterns - Hanzo/Gender Neutral Reader [CW: Sex]

"Hanzo," you coo. Your voice is soft, smooth, gentle enough for it to seem quiet -- but you know against his ear it seems thunderously loud right now. Your cheek is against his, the stubble of his beard abrasive against your skin, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. His hold on you tightens, his movements firmer, and you gasp, a small smile on your face as your eyes close. You've missed this.

To say that it's been awhile since you've had sex is an understatement. The last time you had sex was before you went on medical leave, and between everything that's going on in your head and the effects of the medication on your sex drive, there's been a lot more sleep when you share a bed then there used to be.

This weekend was meant to be different, however. Hanzo had secured some shore leave (those were his words, anyway. You're pretty sure he just asked Angela to have a word with 76 for him,) and you'd decided to do something nice in Hanamura. It was genuinely touching, honestly, that the often stoic man had taken such care in planning something nice for you. He'd even surprised you with a nice dinner in your room. If you didn't know him like you do, you would have sworn that he'd specifically planned this to seduce you, but you know better than that. Hanzo hasn't touched you since everything went to shit, not that'd he'd ever push it anyway.

But tonight, everything has just fallen into place, and finally feeling enough like yourself again to let him get this close has brought a certain relief. Maybe things are finally getting back to normal. Maybe you can start to be the person he fell in love with again. ...And honestly, all that aside? The sex is genuinely really good, and you've missed it dearly.

There's an intensity to the intimacy this time, which makes sense to you. This is, in a way, a reunion. A step in your recovery. It's not 'banging the headboard against the wall' sex -- you're on a futon, for starters -- but something more. Like the end of the world is approaching and you just want to be as close as you possibly can, like it's less about getting off and more about having skin-to-skin contact with every inch of each other.

You kiss him, your foreheads pressed together when the kiss eventually breaks. There's no cursing, no growling or dirty talk, just the sound of each other's breathing until he murmurs a gentle "I love you" and that alone feels so good that it's almost enough to get you off there and then. Your eyes close, your legs rising a little higher to signal that you want more of him...

And out of nowhere you hear an explosion. A blast from outside so loud that for a moment you think you're in the middle of it. Your eyes widen and you gasp suddenly, your entire body going rigid. By the time Hanzo realises that you've started to try to wiggle away from him, your hands press to his chest and you push him off you, letting out a cry as you look to the shuttered window. You scramble to sit up, backing yourself up, your legs coming to your chest.

"What was that?!" You ask, panicked, your voice raised. He stares at you, eyes wide, unsure of what to say. "Th-that explosion!" You go on to explain. "It was so loud! Don't tell me you didn't..." You trail off.

There wasn't an explosion. There wasn't even a loud noise. It was all in your head.

You fall silent, looking down at yourself. You're hugging your knees to your chest as you shake, nearly every muscle in your body tense as it's rocked by tremors. Your heart is racing and you suddenly feel sick. "...Oh my god..."

He watches you in silence for a moment, his face softening before he murmurs your name. "It is alright," he assures you, reaching to touch your leg. You pull away from him instinctively, still on edge, your mind suddenly somewhere between the accident in the field and where you actually are right now. You glance from your leg to him.

"Oh my god... Hanzo, I'm... I'm so sorry..." is all you can really manage, shaking your head as though denying your current situation. You let out an exhale, partially one of frustration, partially one of exhaustion, and push your hair back.

"As I said," he responds, scooting a little closer to you. "It is alright."

A long period of quiet settles itself in the room as you wait for your breath to slow and your heart to relax, the tremors eventually subsiding a bit. Hanzo moves beside you, carefully draping the covers of the futon over the both of you.

"Do you... do you think this is working?" You finally ask, your gaze fixed on the window as though something could burst through and prove you wrong.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"Us." You pause, closing your eyes. "This is hard." He murmurs your name again, but you continue. "It's hard and it won't get easier for a long time, and I understand if you..." You inhale sharply. "I understand if you'd rather just... take some time away from me."

He's quick to respond, almost as though he's heard you ask this before. Have you? You've only just started to get a wrangle on spots in your memory that have been dropping in and out. "Nothing easy is worthwhile."

You finally move your vision from the window and down to the futon, noticing the shape of your legs under the covers. "I just know that I've changed a lot and we haven't had sex in a long time and..." you pause, trying to calm your mind. You're rambling. Not hard to do when your brain is going at 500 miles an hour. "I'm sorry that I ruined the weekend."

Although you aren't looking at him, you can feel him shift beside you. "Do you think the reason I suggested this was to get you into bed?" He asks you.

"Well, not in a bad way. Not like that," you respond. "But in a way, I figured that this would be part of it. Getting me to relax so maybe I could... you know. I really wanted to."

He chuckles a little under his breath, surprising you somewhat. "As did I. I am but a red-blooded man, after all," he jokes, his fingers very gently grazing the skin of your hip to test if you're ready to be touched yet. You don't flinch or shudder or pull away, so his fingers stay, gently drawing patterns that flow from your hip to the skin of your back. It's comforting. It always is when he does it. "But it is not why I brought you to Hanamura." You look to him, waiting for him to explain. "I wanted to have you to myself. When we are on base I have to share you with so many others, and perhaps this is selfish, but I wanted to have you alone for a few days. Somewhere off base, where you are not thinking about work." He smiles gently, patterns still tracing away. "I also thought the quiet here may help you rest after everything that has happened. I cannot imagine that spending the day around so much loud noise and talk of war has been helping you."

You nod, closing your eyes, trying to remember your breathing exercises. "It probably hasn't, honestly."

"How are you feeling?" He asks. "Is it beginning to pass?" He waits for you to nod before his hand traces its way to the other side of your waist, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you to his side very gently. "It takes far more than this to frighten a dragon like myself," he whispers into your ear. You can't see it, but you're more than confident that he's smiling to himself as he says this. "I love you incredibly," he continues, "and I will be beside you. I've told you this."

"And the..." you gesture to the futon. "It doesn't bother you?"

"It is not as though you refused me, is it?" He asked. "As long as your heart is open to me, the way your body chooses to recover is not something that will bother me, nor will it insult me." He pauses, waiting for you to smile a little. Only you don't just smile, but your cheeks flush a bit. When he wants to be romantic, he's very good at it. "Besides," he says with a sigh, a smile on his face, "after sharing the onsen with you today, I have more than enough to keep me company in my thoughts."

Your jaw drops, and while part of you knows he's trying to distract you, you still fall for it. _"Really?"_ You ask, turning to stare at him. He carefully guides your head to his shoulder, allowing it to rest there as his body shakes with laughter. "Is this what McCree is teaching you? Filth like that?"

He kisses the top of your head, continuing to laugh, not responding otherwise. You eventually find yourself joining him, and wonder if anyone else in the world could turn a moment like that into one like this.


End file.
